Mrs. Huong lay on the hospital bed, her eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling. The room was quiet, except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Her breathing was labored, and each time she tried to speak, it was like a battle. The doctor told her family to prepare themselves mentally, because after this stroke, her strength had weakened. There were many things in her heart that she had not yet had time to say.

The eldest son, Mr. Thanh, walked in with a face of pretended worry. He held his mother’s hand, asked a few questions, then glanced around as if he was measuring the room, not really concerned about her health. “Rest assured, Mom. Let us take care of the house,” he said, his voice as sweet as honey. But there was a calculating glint in his eyes that made Mrs. Huong feel cold. She blinked, turned away slightly, avoiding that gaze.

After Thanh, it was Mrs. Thu’s turn – the second daughter – to pull a chair and sit close to the edge of the bed. She spoke softly, sighing repeatedly and wiping away tears as if she loved her mother very much. “Mom, please try to get well, I haven’t had time to take you home to stay for long yet,” she held Mrs. Huong’s hand tightly. However, as soon as she left the room, Mrs. Thu called her husband and whispered: “The land must be divided into our family’s share, we can’t let the other brothers take it all.” Those words fell on the ears of her niece who was passing by, startling her.

The third son, Mr. Phuc, came back from afar, looking hurried. He brought a basket of fruit, placed it on the table, and then told stories about his busy work. “Don’t worry about us, Mom, just take care of your health,” he said, but his eyes kept glancing at the stacks of documents on the shelf in the corner of the room. He suggested that the siblings should discuss the land issue soon, so as not to argue later. Mrs. Huong heard those words, only feeling her chest getting heavier.

Only the youngest son – Khai – sat quietly by the bed, not saying much. He fed his mother spoonfuls of porridge, wiped her forehead when she sweated, and changed her clothes when she was wet. Khai had no family of his own, no stable career, and was once ridiculed by his siblings as “dependent on his mother”. However, it was those hands that were now keeping Mrs. Huong warm at the end of her life. She gently held her son’s hand, squeezing it lightly as a word of gratitude.

One afternoon, Mrs. Huong was breathing more rapidly than usual. All four children were present, standing around the bed, worried and tense. The doctor entered, his voice serious, asking the family to prepare for the worst. The atmosphere was thick, everyone was silent but their minds were swirling with calculations. Only Khai bowed his head, hiding the tears that were about to fall.

Mrs. Huong signaled that she wanted to speak. Her voice was hoarse and broken, each word falling out with difficulty. “Children… come closer… to me.” They pressed close to the bed, each with a different mood. Thanh thought about the will, Thu waited for the division, Phuc frowned, and Khai just held his mother’s hand, trembling.

She looked at each of her children, stopping the longest at Khai. Tears rolled down the corners of her aged eyes, she whispered: “I know… who truly loves me… who only loves the land.” The whole room was shocked, no one dared to speak. Thu opened her mouth to explain, but choked. Thanh bit his lip, turning away to avoid his mother’s eyes.

The doctor opened the file, took out a stack of papers with a red stamp. He placed them on the table, slowly: “Mrs. Huong has completed the procedure to transfer all the land to her youngest son. This is her wish, fully notarized.” Those words fell like a thunderbolt to the ears of the remaining three people. Thu burst into tears, Phuc widened his eyes, Thanh slammed his hand on the table. Only Khai was shocked, unable to believe his ears.

“That can’t be, you didn’t tell me anything!” Thanh snapped, his voice a mixture of anger and disappointment. “You’re biased, have you thought about our efforts?” Thu cried, both blaming and pleading. Phuc frowned and banged on the table: “That land must be divided, it can’t be left to her alone!” The whole room was in chaos, except for the hospital bed where Mrs. Huong lay weakly.

She tried to take a breath, her eyes blurred but still determined. “Those who love me… stay. Those who only want land… go home.” Her voice trembled, weak but resolute like a knife cutting through the argument. All three children fell silent, speechless and unable to refute. In that moment, all calculations fell apart.

Khai sat down, holding his skinny hand. He sobbed: “Mom, I don’t need land… I just need you to live.” She gently stroked his hair, smiling tiredly. “Don’t worry… with me, I have nothing to fear.” She closed her eyes, at peace knowing she had given herself to the right person.

After the doctor sent the family out so she could rest, the hospital hallway was quiet. Thanh, Thu, and Phuc sat on the bench, each with their own expression. Thanh was frustrated, lamenting that all his hard work had been lost over the years. Thu was still sobbing, blaming her mother for being unfair. Phuc was silent, his eyes filled with resentment, but he couldn’t do anything because the paperwork had been completed.

“It’s all because you cling to your mother, making her falter.” Thanh looked at Khai with resentment, his voice bitter. “That’s right, we’re the ones taking care of things out there, while you have nothing.” Thu echoed, wiping her tears. Khai just bowed his head, not answering, pain mixed with humiliation. He knew any excuses at this moment were meaningless.

At night, Khai spread a mat on the floor next to his mother’s bed. He heard her wheezing breaths, his heart heavy as stone. “Mom, I will be here with you, no matter what,” he whispered. Mrs. Huong opened her eyes slightly, held his hand, and smiled faintly. In her unconscious state, she could still feel the warmth of her youngest son’s hand.

The next day, when the doctor reported that things were not getting any better, Thanh and Phuc discussed hiring a lawyer. “Maybe there’s a way to get the papers back,” Phuc said, his voice full of hope. Thanh nodded, determined not to give up. Thu was half-believing, half-doubting, afraid of being branded as unfilial if she sued. The calculations continued, endlessly.

Khai listened to everything, his heart aching but he did not argue. He only thought of his mother, of the remaining days with her. He bought porridge, boiled herbal water for her bath, and fixed each fold of the pillow and blanket. He did those little things with all his heart. Because he understood that motherly love could not be exchanged for dirt.

Mrs. Huong gradually weakened, but her mind was still clear. One afternoon, she called all four of them together. “I can’t take anything with me, I just want to leave behind my love. If you continue to fight over it, I won’t be able to rest in peace.” Those words were like a knife piercing the hearts of each of her children. Thanh bowed his head, Thu burst into tears, Phuc was silent, and Khai held his mother’s hand tightly.

In the hospital room, the afternoon sunlight slanted through the window. The chirping of birds outside seemed to contrast with the heavy atmosphere inside. Mrs. Huong closed her eyes, her lips moving slightly as she prayed for her children to get along. Khai placed his hand on his mother’s chest, feeling her weak but still strong heartbeat. In that moment, he understood why his mother chose him.

The day Mrs. Huong closed her eyes, no longer having the strength to speak, Khai collapsed beside the bed and burst into tears. Thanh, Thu, and Phuc also shed tears, but those tears were mixed with regret. They had not only lost their mother, but also the land they had longed for. The room was quiet, with only memories of her last days remaining. Khai hugged his mother’s portrait, vowing to protect her resting place.